I drove past the place where we first met today.
I felt cold and fragile. I guess nothing has changed.
The discomfort overwhelmed my basic senses, and I couldn't see straight.
I pulled over to gather myself, I found it difficult to breathe
The past eight months has been denial personified, a constant false assurance that everything is alright and that I'm happy for you.
Happy that you're comfortable in life, but I'm still running away from mine.
Happy.
I'm happy.